


the lonely traveller, always adrift

by bubblewrapstargirl



Series: the lone traveller multiverse [11]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, M/M, Podrick Payne is a Gift, Roose is his own warning, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 06:31:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13607580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: Wylla Manderly is the lone mermaid in a castle of natural-born tormentors. She struggles to fit in, and never quite manages to succeed.





	the lonely traveller, always adrift

Wylla Bolton chewed her stringy lamb as delicately as she was able. She had to set an example for her girls, even if no one else in this castle had an ounce of decorum. Her husband was of no use, as usual, too deep in conversation with his vile brother to notice her irritation at their foul manners.

“I have been asked to consider visiting White Harbour. My sister writes that my grandfather is ill, and not like to live much longer,” she announced, tired of being overlooked. “I should like to say my goodbyes. And visit my sister’s son, whom I have not yet met.”

“And how do you expect to have sons of your own,” her goodfather said severely, “If you are absent from the marriage bed?”

Wylla flushed deeply, still unused to such public crassness and casual cruelty at the dinner table.

“Wylla is still young, my love,” said Lady Gwynesse, laying a hand on her husband’s arm, “Not every woman can be Catelyn Stark. But they have plenty of time for more babes. Wylla's grandfather does not have that same luxury to wait.”

Wylla shot her goodmother a grateful look. They did not have the easiest relationship, coming from very different maiden Houses. There had been a time when she had felt very threatened by Lady Gwynesse’s presence at the Dreadfort. Wylla had been embarrassed for the lack of propriety the older woman had shown, laying with Dom’s father without being wed.

When they had eventually married, Wylla had warmed to her. As the only other highborn lady in the castle, it was inevitable that the two women would spend much time together. Wylla was not sorry to hand over the duties of Lady Bolton to Gwynesse. Relinquishing her responsibilities meant she had more time to spend with her daughters. Indeed, she had felt more secure than ever at the Dreadfort. Dom was set to be its lord someday, without the possibility of any other trueborn brothers to challenge his authority.

Then several moons after the men returned from the Great War, to everyone’s great surprise, Lady Gwynesse revealed she was with child. That had been a horrid shock to Wylla. She had been told by Maester Wolkan there was a possibility she might never get with child again, due to the difficult birth of her youngest daughter. Therefore she might not be able to provide Dom with any sons. She had begged the old man not to tell Lord Bolton of this supposition. It seemed he had not done so, becuase Roose still expected her to announce a pregnancy. He asked after her health at regular intervals.

Wylla was not ashamed to admit that she had been terrified that Gwynesse would give Roose another son. One that might be named the heir to the Dreadfort after Dom, and ahead of her girls.

She and her sister had suffered men’s disapproval for being female heirs to New Castle. Everyone had expected her grandfather to declare their distant male cousins as heirs after their father instead. She had been glad to escape the stifling atmosphere when she married Dom.

She felt for Wynafryd, who had struggled to find a man that would set aside his House for her. Her sister had eventually been lucky enough to marry a man from the Reach, willing to give up his ancestral claims, and name their children Manderlys. It was the only reason Wynafryd would one day become the Lady of New Castle. It did not stop the grumbling from their male relatives, however, who coveted the wealth and prestige of being Lord Manderly. Wylla did not want the same kind of uncertain future for her girls.

Then Gwynesse had been delivered of her own daughter, bonnie little Ingrid, and Wylla could rest easy again. The older woman had shown no more signs of freakish middle-aged fertility. Ramsay was a bastard, and so her eldest daughter’s claim was intact.

“Perhaps we ought to make a family excursion of it.” said Dom of her proposed trip to White Harbour, “Let the girls spend some time with their great-grand father.”

Wylla smiled, feeling a lump of gratitude catch in her throat. “I should like that very much, Dom.”

“And while you are there, you might work on providing me with a grandson.” Roose interjected, sending a glare her way.

“You worry too much, Father,” Dom disagreed, pulling Roose’s cold attention away from her. Dismissing his lord father flippantly, while shovelling a forkful of lamb and potato into his mouth.

“I worry the correct, adequate amount.” Roose insisted without a hint of amusement. “You have no heir. The situation cannot continue.”

Dom sighed, setting down his fork. “That’s not entirely true. I have Merik.”

Roose’s pale blue eyes seemed to whiten with disbelief. The young boy in question chose that inopportune moment to splash his spoon against his bowl, splattering gravy across the table, and sending a potato skittering across the wood.

“Careful, sweetling,” came the soft voice of Podrick Redbolt, who immediately provided a handkerchief to mop the child’s gravy-flecked hand.

“Your bastard brother’s fool of a son? The heir to House Bolton?” Roose fumed, “I think not.”

His two sons went rigid at that, glaring at their father in ill-disguised fury, a combined force of abject hatred. Wylla shivered in her uncomfortble chair, cursing herself for mentioning the trip. She had been annoyed that Dom still spent much of his time ignoring her in favour of his brother. This awful tension is what she had wrought with her desperate plea for attention.

Podrick, who always had the good sense to avoid conflict with Roose, quickly stood up. He lifted little Merik up from under his armpits and set the boy on his feet.

“Let’s see if Cook has any of those raspberry tarts left, hmm?” He said, to which the boy nodded eagerly, taking hold of Podrick's hand obediently. Wylla watched them leave in mild awe.

She could not understand why, if Podrick must take up with a man, he had chosen one such as Ramsay Redbolt. Out of all the men in the North that might have been willing to bed him, he had picked the cruellest. Yet Ramsay was the one he had chosen to keep indefinitely, even going so far as to take his name.

A more callous wretch Wylla had never met, yet Ramsay managed to incur such loyalty from her trueborn husband. Despite all the treachery bastards were known for. And from his lover, who was a gentle and lighthearted man. Ramsay even got along well enough with Gwynesse, who was in most things a highly sensible woman. Wylla could not fathom it.

“Run along after your cousin, girls,” she instructed her daughters. Rose immediately hopped down from her seat, but Beth frowned.

“But Mother, you said we were not to have pudding, without finishing our dinner first.” Her eldest child reminded her.

Wylla stifled the urge to roll her eyes. Beth might be well-spoken and good-mannered, but she had not yet learnt to read the mood of a room.

“An exception, just this once,” Wylla pressed, willing the foolish girl to move. Honestly, Roose considered Merik a simpleton, but at least the boy did as he was told.

Finally, her girls consented to leave. Wylla wished she could join them without making it obvious she was running away like a child. Once the girls were out of earshot, Roose started to unleash his ire on his sons, beginning with the baseborn.

"Your whore has more sense than you, to remove that boy from my sight. But you are more stupid than that empty-minded child, if you think I will be deceived into allowing your base blood to inherit this castle."

Ramsay said nothing, breathing heavily through his nose. His eyes were wide with outrage. Wylla wondered hysterically if Roose understood exactly how much danger he was in. She had seen Ramsay cut the tongue out of the last man that had insulted Podrick.

“You will cease this foolish talk at once. You have a perfectly good wife, proven fertile; make use of her.” Roose growled at Dom, “If I can manage to beget a daughter upon my wife, then you can manage to provide me with one grandson of sound mind.”

Wylla leaned back as far as her chair would allow her. Ramsay’s hand was tense on his knife. She knew it would be but one flick of his wrist, and he might end his father’s life. For a wild moment, she thought he might actually attempt it. But at long length, Ramsay pressed his hand flat on the knife’s hilt, splaying his fingers open wide.

“And if I don’t?” Dom challenged his father, all pretence of nonchalance dissolved.

“You will,” Roose said firmly. “Or I may be forced to… help your wife to have a son.”

For a moment there was nothing but stunned silence. Then Dom leapt to his feet, kicking his chair away with such force that it slammed into the far wall and splintered with a magnificent crack. Terrified, Wylla stopped pretending to be brave, and fled from the room.

She did not stop running, until she was safely locked inside her personal bedchamber. She allowed herself a moment to pant in terror, trembling in tears. Then she began to tear her dresses from her wardrobe. She could not get out of this accursed castle soon enough.

*

In subsequent years, Wylla would look back on that time in her life with a kind of muted horror. As the years progressed, the details became fuzzy around the edges. Dom didn’t talk of naming Merik as his heir again, even though she never gave him any other children, and Roose continued to be bitter about it.

Wylla was too focused on trying to secure good marriages for her girls, and avoiding Roose at all costs, to notice what else was happening in the Dreadfort. She struggled with Beth, for the same reasons that Wynafryd had. Because of this, she did not pay attention to the other children, and came to rue her mistake.

When Merik and his aunt by blood but younger in age, Ingrid, announced their intention to wed, Wylla was naively pleased for them. It seemed a neat solution all round. To have her husband’s only trueborn sibling, neatly wed to his only nephew. The Bolton cadet branch would gain true legitimacy through Ingrid. Wylla could not understand Gwynesse’s look of abject triumph when Merik came to claim her daughter before the old gods. It was only later, after Roose was dead, that Wylla saw what had happened beneath her very nose.

When he ascended to the rank of Lord Bolton, Dom knighted Merik. Even though the boy had been no man’s squire. Afterward, they told her that from then on, the boy was to be known as Merik Bolton. Finally, as Gwynesse smirked at her from across the banquet table, Wylla understood that neither of her daughters would ever be the Lady of the Dreadfort.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so invested in the Boltons, y'all.


End file.
